


Family Isn't Just the People Who Are Still There, It's Also the People Who Are Gone

by Illusinia



Series: A Hodge-podge Family of Three [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, father!Clint, father!Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusinia/pseuds/Illusinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This really wasn't a conversation Clint should be having with Darcy, and he knew it. Hell, he'd only met Phil's wife a hanful of times when she was alive, mostly in passing. All he knew was that her name was Marcy (which is where he swears Phil got Darcy) and that she'd been a bit of a live wire compared to Phil."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I cried when I wrote this. Don't know if that means anything, but it serves as a warning.

Clint smiled as he stepped into the living room, catching sight of Darcy where she was sitting on the couch. His little five year old daughter (yes, he could officially call her that now and had the paperwork to prove it) was currently curled up on the couch with a large book spread open in her lap. Her eyes were glued to the pages in front of her, turning them carefully as she went.

 

“Hey Darce,” greeted Clint, walking up to the back of the couch and leaning over. The little girl stared up at him with wide blue eyes, guilt flashing across her face. Well, that couldn't be good. “Whatcha go there?”

 

Darcy's eyes fell back to the page, fingers tracing over one of the many images on the pages. Images Clint realized were photographs. Photographs of people like a young Phil with his arms wrapped around a beautiful brunette woman. Oh, this couldn't be good.

 

“It's one of Daddy's picture books,” replied Darcy quietly, her eyes staring at the woman in the photos. “Daddy was looking at it the other day, but he hid it when I came in the room and I wanted to know why.”

 

Clint nodded slowly, carefully hopping the back of the couch so he could sit beside Darcy. “I see, and what have you figured out?”

 

Darcy shrugged a little, eyes still on the photos. “I don't know, it's just old pictures.”

 

This really wasn't a conversation Clint should be having with Darcy, and he knew it. Hell, he'd only met Phil's wife a hanful of times when she was alive, mostly in passing. All he knew was that her name was Marcy (which is where he swears Phil got Darcy) and that she'd been a bit of a live wire compared to Phil. Glancing at Darcy, he almost said as much until he caught the way she was looking at the woman in the photos. She looked curious and maybe a little sad. He and Phil had never talked about who was going to tell Darcy about her mom; Clint had always assumed it would be Phil, but knowing how much the subject upset his partner made him wonder if that was a good idea. Maybe it was better if he broached the subject with Darcy, assuming she even wanted to discuss it. Sighing, he slid one arm along the back of the couch and leaned over so he could see the book as well.

 

“Who do you think the pictures are of?” asked Clint gently, aware he was treading on dangerous ground. He needed to be careful.

 

Darcy shrugged again, pointing at a young Phil. “I think that's Daddy.”

 

“It is,” confirmed Clint, eyes darting between Darcy and the photographs. “That's your father when he was a lot younger.”

 

For a moment, Darcy didn't say a word. She just stared at the picture, with her finger still pointing at her father's image. Then, that same finger slid across the page to point at the woman. “Is that Mommy?”

 

Clint nodded, dropping his hand to squeeze Darcy's shoulder. “Yeah Darce, that's your Mommy.”

 

“She's pretty,” murmured Darcy, letting her finger slide over the image. “I've never seen a picture of her. Daddy hid them all.”

 

“Your Daddy misses her a lot,” explained Clint. “He loved her.”

 

“Like Daddy loves you?” asked Darcy, eyes rising to look at Clint.

 

He offered her a smile and slight nod. “Yeah, like he loves me.”

 

“Does he still lover her?” continued Darcy curiously, voice a little hopeful.

 

“I'm sure he does,” confirmed Clint gently. “That's why pictures of her make him sad.”

 

Darcy nodded, leaning her head against Clint's side even as she flipped the page of the photo album. “That's good. I wouldn't want him to stop loving her, just like I wouldn't want him to stop loving you.”

 

Her words brought tears to Clint's eyes and made him want to hug the little girl close. “Oh Darce...”

 

“Am I allowed to love Mommy, even though I never met her?” asked Darcy quietly, eyes falling back to the book in her lap.

 

“Of course you are,” assured Clint softly. “Your Daddy would be very upset if you didn't.”

 

“Good,” whispered Darcy, eyes locked on the images of her mother that she'd never gotten to see before. “I think I remember hearing her voice, when I was really, really little. I can't remember what she looked like, but I remember someone singing softly.”

 

Clint remembered Phil telling him once that Marcy had sang to Darcy every night before going to sleep while she was pregnant. He wondered now if she'd ever gotten to even lay eyes on her daughter. Phil hadn't told him exactly how Marcy had died, and on some level he really hoped she'd gotten to hold Darcy at least once. Gotten to sign to her daughter in person. “Darcy, even though your mommy isn't here, I want you to know that she loved you very, very much and she was very excited to meet you.”

 

“Really?” asked Darcy quietly, looking back up at Clint with hopeful eyes.

 

“Yes, really,” assured Clint, drawing her into a hug. “And I'm sure she wishes she could be here with you right now.”

 

“Dada. where is Mommy?” asked Darcy, voice muttered by his shirt. “Why isn't she here?”  
  
And that was question Clint had been waiting for her to ask. He was just grateful she'd asked him rather than Phil. No matter how much he wanted to believe his partner could answer the question, he wasn't sure the man could. “Your Mommy isn't here because she died, Darcy. Just after you were born.”

 

Darcy pulled away suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I didn't kill her, did I?”

 

“No, no Darcy,” whispered Clint, quickly drawing her back to him. “You didn't kill her. Don't even think that.”

 

“Okay,” murmured Darcy. “Good. I wouldn't want to make Daddy sad.”

 

“You don't make your Daddy sad, Darcy,” assured Clint gently. “You make very happy.”

 

“Like Mommy did?” asked Darcy, eyes falling back to the image of her mother. One little finger reached out to touch the picture gently.

 

“Yes sweetheart, like your Mommy did,” agreed Clint. “Like I do. We're a family, Darcy. The three of us are a family and even though your Mommy isn't here, she's part of our family too because she gave birth to you.”

 

“Good,” whispered Darcy. “I want Mommy to be part of our family, even if she's not here.”

 

“She is, Darcy,” assured Clint gently. “She's as much a part of our family as you are.”

 

Darcy nodded quietly, staring at the photos. “Do you think Daddy would tell me about her if I asked?”

 

“I'm sure he would,” confirmed Clint. “Is there anything specific you want to know?”  
  


“Was she nice?” asked Darcy, eyes turning back up toward Clint.

 

Clint nodded. “Very nice. She was one of the nicest people you'd ever meet. And she was smart, too.”

 

Darcy's eyes widened a little. “Smarter than Daddy?”

 

“I think she was as smart as your Daddy,” corrected Clint. “He used to call her his anchor. She could always make him feel better when he was down.”

 

“What was her name?” asked Darcy curiously, shifting so she could lean against Clint completely.

 

He carefully lifted the book out of her lap and into his to keep it from falling off the couch. Phil would be devastated if anything happened to it. “Marcy. Her name was Marcy.”

 

“That rhymes with Darcy,” murmured Darcy, finger still tracing over the image. “Is that why Daddy named me Darcy?”

 

“That's always been my guess,” stated Clint with a shrug. One of his hands idly began stroking Darcy's hair as she began to nod off to sleep.

 

“I wish I'd gotten to meet Mommy,” whispered Darcy quietly, head drooping. “I love you and Daddy, but I miss Mommy sometimes.”

 

“I know you do, Darce,” murmured Clint gently. “You're allowed to miss your Mommy and wish you'd gotten to meet her.”

 

“Mhm,” hummed Darcy. “But I have you, so I guess everything's okay anyway.”

 

Clint carefully shifted the photo album out of his lap as Darcy dozed off, shifting so he could lay down with his daughter tucked against his side. Hearing Darcy talk about her mother was hard, especially knowing she'd never gotten to meet her. But he knew it was good too. Even if Phil couldn't bring himself to talk about her, Clint knew he'd never want Darcy to go without knowing about her mother. And neither did Clint. He wasn't a replacement for Marcy, and he didn't want to be. Knowing that Darcy loved them all, even the woman who she'd never met, brought some peace to his conscious. Darcy would never forget who her mother was, even if she'd never met her. Which is exactly how it should be.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look at how Phil starts to open up a little about Marcy. The reality is that this is a subject that probably wouldn't be completely settled in one setting, so I opted to just show the beginnings of it. I doubt there will be more, but I won't swear there won't be either.

 

Phil sighed as he reached the door to his apartment, rolling his shoulders a little to dispel some of the remaining tension from the day. God, he hated days like this. They felt endless and all he wanted to do was go curl up in bed with Clint and Darcy, watch movies, and not move until Monday.

 

Opening the door, he slipped inside quietly. Darcy was at that age where she still slept in the middle of the day sometimes and he wasn't going to be responsible for waking her up. A prematurely awoken Darcy was a crabby Darcy.

 

Wondering into the living room, Phil paused as he took in the scene in front of him. Clint was sleeping on the couch, sprawled out with his head on the arm rest and one of his arms dangling off the edge. Darcy was curled between him and the back of the couch, her head nestled into her adoptive father's shoulder. Someone, probably Clint, had pulled the blanket on the back of the couch over both of them, wrapping them up in the fleece.

 

It was moments like this that Phil wished he carried a camera regularly. As things stood, he just took a minute to memorize the sight. Then his eyes wondered to the coffee table.

 

There, in the middle of the smooth wooden surface, was a photo album he knew all too well. It should have been hidden away in his closet, stashed in a box on a low shelf well out of sight. He pulled it out on occasion, unable to resist remembering the woman he'd been married to for almost three years. The woman he'd lost.

 

Yes, he loved his husband; Clint was one of the most important people in his life and Phil didn't know how he would have gotten as far as he had without his husband. But he still loved his deceased wife too, even after five years. And that photo album was the only reminder he had of her; he'd gotten rid of everything else. Even the few things he'd wanted to keep for Darcy were with her aunt, Marcy's sister.

 

Clint stirred a little, drawing Phil's mind back to the situation at hand and away from what he'd lost. His partner blinked up at Phil when he spotted him, smiling faintly. “Hey.” Clint's voice was gravelly from sleep, low and tinged with a touch of worry. “How was work?”

 

“Alright,” replied Phil quietly, glancing down at Darcy. “How long as she been asleep for?”

 

“No clue,” muttered back Clint, glancing at his watch. “Maybe thirty minutes?”

 

Nodding, Phil's eyes fell back on the album sitting on the table. “Why is that photo album out?”

 

Clint shrugged his free shoulder a little, eyes shifting to the album in question. “Darcy found it. She was looking at it when I got out of the shower.”

 

Phil felt his throat tighten; this wasn't how he'd wanted Darcy to learn about her mother. Sure, she knew she'd had a mother, but she didn't actually know anything about Marcy. He'd been planning to talk with her about it after her birthday, not wanting to keep the complete truth from her any longer. The last thing he wanted to do was keep knowledge of her mother from Darcy. He'd only waited this long because he wanted to make sure his daughter would be able to understand what happened. And he'd been hoping it would get easier if he waited. It hadn't.

 

“What did you tell her?” asked Phil quietly, one hand reaching down to stroke Darcy's hair.

 

“The truth,” replied Clint simply. “I wasn't sure how you wanted to handle it, but I just answered her questions as best I could.” He paused for a moment, staring at Phil's face before quietly adding: “She misses her.”

 

Phil's breath hitched a little, forcing him to take a deep breath. “She...she remembers Marcy? How?”

 

Clint shrugged a little, eyes dropping back to Darcy. “She remembers a woman singing to her. I don't know if it's related, but that's what she said.”

 

“Marcy didn't die during the birth,” explained Phil quietly, tears pressing at the corners of his eyes. “She died a few hours later. Complications. I brought Darcy to her in recovery as soon as she was cleaned up. She took Darcy in her arms, smiled and started singing to her.” The tears pressed harder, a few breaking free and running down his cheeks. “She was so happy to finally meet our daughter. I jokingly told her that we should name her 'Darcy' because she looked so much like Marcy. Same eyes, little tufts of dark hair...” One of his hands rose to brush away the tears. “I never though Darcy would have any memory of her, period. She was so little when Marcy passed away.”

 

The press of Clint's hand against his shoulder brought Phil out of his memories. “Hey, Marcy wouldn't want you to be sad. Not based on what you've said about her and what little I knew.”

 

“No,” agreed Phil, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Marcy would have been one of the first people encouraging me to move on if she could have been. It's just...I still love her, Clint. I'm sorry, but I can't completely let her go.”

 

“And I don't expect you to,” assured Clint, shifting so he could lean up and press his forehead to Phil's. “I know you still love her, Phil. And I'm glad you do. You wouldn't be the man I love if you just let her go completely. And it's fine, I don't mind sharing you a little.” Sighing, he pressed a quick kiss to his husband's lips. “I'm not trying to replace her, Phil, and I never want to. Marcy was a big part of your life for three years. Hell, she gave you Darcy, your daughter. The most precious thing in your life. If you stopped loving her, I think I'd be pretty pissed with you.”

 

Phil took Clint's hand in his free one, leaving his other hand on Darcy's shoulder. “Darcy is _one_ of the most precious things in my life, but you're just as important to me. Don't ever think otherwise. I don't think I would have made it this far without you.”

 

Clint nodded a little, squeezing Phil's hand gently. “I'm here for you, Phil. And I'm not leaving without a fight.”

 

“Good,” muttered Phil. “I'm pretty sure Darcy would be heart-broken if she lost two parents and I know I wouldn't be able to handle loosing a second partner.”

 

Between them, Darcy stirred a little. Her eyes blinked slowly open, rising to look up at her fathers. “Hi Daddy.”

 

“Hey Darcy,” murmured Phil, squeezing her shoulder gently. “Did you have a good nap?”  
  


“Yeah,” whispered Darcy, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I dreamed about Mommy. She was holding me and singing.”

 

Phil felt his heart clench, hands reaching down to pick his daughter up. “What was she singing?”  
  


“I don't know,” replied Darcy with a yawn. “The words were jumbled, but it was soft.”

 

“You know,” started Phil, swallowing hard before continuing, “the first thing your Mommy did when I handed you to her in the hospital was sing to you.”

 

Darcy's head rolled on her father's shoulder so she could look up at him. “I met Mommy?”

 

“Yes, you did,” confirmed Phil, the tears building again. “She was so happy to see you, I'd never seen her smile that wide before.”

 

“That's good,” murmured Darcy, rubbing her eyes again. Blinking up at him, she tilted her head to him. “Daddy, what was Mommy like?”

 

Phil glanced at Clint, who smiled back encouragingly as he stood and stretched. “I'm gonna order take-out. Chinese alright?”

 

“Chinese sounds good,” agreed Phil, watching at his husband walked into the kitchen where their take-out menus were. Sighing, he sat down on the couch where Clint had been a moment ago with Darcy on his lap and reached for his photo album. Flipping open the cover, he was met with a photo ribbon of him and Marcy. He'd still be stiff back then, not easily relaxing. Marcy, by contrast, had thrown an arm around his shoulders, one eyebrow cocked at him. “Your mother was very kind, happy, determined.” A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “She always tried to help whenever she could; when there was a bad mission, she was always there to draw me back.”

 

“Do you still love her?” asked Darcy curiously, little fingers dancing over the image of her mother's face.

 

Phil nodded, kissing the top of Darcy's head. “I still love her, very much.”

 

“But you love Dada too, right?” continued Darcy, eyes rising to look at her father.

 

“Very much, Darcy,” confirmed Phil quietly. “I love them both, even though Mommy isn't here anymore.”

 

Darcy's eyes fell back to the pictures, turning the page carefully. “Do you miss Mommy?”

 

“Yes,” assured Phil, voice cracking a little. “Every day.”

 

Silently, his daughter stared at the photos. Her fingers moved across the page, tracing her mother's features like she was trying to memorize them. Silently, he watched her face as she stared at the images. Looked at the image of the woman who'd birthed her, the woman she'd barely gotten to meet.

 

Clint slipped back into the room, his light footsteps catching Phil's attention. He listened to his partner's steps creeping towards the couch, felt it when Clint leaned on his forearms behind his back. The press of Clint's lips to the back of his head, the feel of his partner's fingers through his hair. Soft, reassuring. His family had changed drastically in the past six years; he'd lost his wife, but gained his daughter and husband. And even though it hurt not to have Marcy with him, he had to admit, things had turned out just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't decided if there should be a second part of this or not. Opinions are welcome.


End file.
